


Safe House

by firesign10



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, M/M, Pining Tony DiNozzo, Slow Build, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony DiNozzo cultivates a brash facade in order to do his job effectively. He slowly learns that when he visits Leroy Jethro Gibbs' little cabin in the woods, there's no facade necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Evian-fork's art prompt for the [ncis-bang](ncis_bang.livejournal.com)'s Reverse Bang. I loved this art the minute I saw it. I loved the image and the idea of Gibbs' little cabin, and Tony going there over time, and I so enjoyed writing the story that developed from this. I was incredibly fortunate that not only did create the original banner, but a whole set of co-ordinated pieces. There is a different header for each part, along with icons and dividers. Do not hesitate to check out her Masterpost and leave her tons of love!
> 
> Thanks to my fabulous beta reader, [theatregirl7299](theatregirl7299.livejournal.com), and to my dear [roxymissrose](roxymissrose.livejournal.com) for her feedback read! Thanks to [solariana](solariana.livejournal.com) for masterminding this challenge!

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/90812/90812_original.jpg)

The leaves crunched under Tony's feet as he walked through the trees, picking his way over small stumps and between slender saplings and fat trunks. He wondered if he'd lost his way in this forest—it seemed like he'd been walking for several minutes with not even a glimpse of the cabin he was heading for.

_Trust Gibbs to live way the hell out in the damn wilderness,_ Tony thought, irritation spiking through the malaise he'd been in the last few days. _Where is the damn cabin?_

He stopped to check his location, glancing at the note with the co-ordinates of his destination. He was relieved to find he was close; whether the relief was from finding the cabin or that Gibbs was nearby, he didn't stop to contemplate.

The boxy shape finally loomed through the trees. Tony stepped into a clearing and there it was—a simple rectangular building, like a child's drawing. Wood logs formed the body, rising tall enough for a second story room, judging by the window under the apex of the roof. A door and a window faced Tony, and he walked up the four wide steps to rap on the glass inset of the door.

“It's open!” Gibbs called, and Tony smiled to himself as he twisted the knob. Of course it was—Gibbs never locked his door.

The room was warm, which Tony welcomed after his chilly hike. He hadn't felt warm for days, not since the brisk, brilliantly sunny day on the rooftop. The breeze had messed with Kate's hair while she and Gibbs laughed at Tony's expense, and he hadn't cared because they were all there and safe and then—and then Kate's blood had sprayed across his face, and her body had thumped onto the asphalt, and he'd wanted to scream as they looked wildly around for Ari.

Tony hadn't been warm since. No jacket or blanket could warm the chill of his skin, no hot beverage or food could ease the icy core inside him. When Gibbs had invited him to spend the weekend at his cabin, Tony had hoped he wouldn't get frostbite out there in the woods; the very idea of it was shiver-inducing.

But now, stepping over the broad threshold, Tony felt warmth reaching out, a welcoming heat and light from the blazing fire that burned brightly in the rough-hewed fireplace. The cabin was simply furnished, which fit Gibbs perfectly. A couple of armchairs with a low table between them, a square table and chairs in the kitchen alcove. A sturdy ladder led upstairs, which Tony presumed was the bedroom. He briefly wondered where he was sleeping.

The furniture was sturdy, plain in design, but it looked comfortable, like it could take someone's weight and not think twice about it. The armchairs were upholstered with fat cushions covered in plaid canvas, the red/blue/green pattern lending a cheery aspect. A large lantern hung on a hook from a thick cross-beam, and a smaller lantern sat on the kitchen table. Half-melted candles stuck in empty jars sat on the mantelpiece, although as yet unlit.

A door at the back of the cabin opened, and Gibbs walked into the kitchen. Tony smiled at the red USMC sweatshirt, and he couldn't help noticing how Gibbs' silver hair glowed under the lantern light.

“Glad you made it before dark, DiNozzo. It's a little harder to make it through the woods after sunset.” Gibbs pumped the handle at the sink, and Tony realized it really _was_ a pump, not some kind of rustic-style spigot.

“Yeah, it took a little longer than I anticipated. Gibbs, is that really a water pump?” Tony stared at it in disbelief. “Is that—do we have water here? I mean, _running_ water?”

“Yep, you just have to pump it here at the sink. There's a toilet and shower through that door,” Gibbs said, gesturing at the door he'd just emerged through. “You want a hot bath, though, you gotta heat up water in the tub.” He nodded at the lanterns. “No electricity. Plenty of oil for the lanterns and there's candles too.”

Tony's mind reeled with the prospect of no hot showers. Or electricity. “How do you cook?” An even greater deprivation struck him. “You mean...there's no TV?” His words came faster as he nervously babbled, “I mean, it's not TV per se, boss, it's movies. I always watch movies on my time off, all kinds—action, classic black and white, maybe even a romance now and then—not that I'm like McSofty, I love a good fight scene, and then there's Bond, of course, there's always Bond--”

“Shut up, DiNozzo.”

Tony shut up, jaw locked, eyes wide. Gibbs walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, then—with surprising softness—he patted Tony's cheek. “It's gonna be okay, DiNozzo. Relax.”

It _was_ okay. Gibbs cooked steak in beer over the hearth-fire and stuck foil-wrapped potatoes in the coals. He had plenty more of the beer, and they enjoyed a little bourbon after eating. Tony devoured his steak and potato; it felt like he hadn't eaten in forever, like his appetite had disappeared but now it reasserted itself in this primitive, cozy house. While they sat on the comfortable chairs and sipped their bourbon, they watched the flames. Tony began to say something at one point, but Gibbs shook his head and Tony quieted.

It was an unusual experience for Tony; he lived to talk, his brain always racing and words tumbling from his mouth. He would have thought it would feel strange, sitting here in silence, but it was...oddly pleasurable. He was with Gibbs, a man who existed in silence, who didn't require unnecessary sound. Gradually, Tony felt calm creeping throughout him, and he gazed contentedly at the dancing flames.

“Bed.” Gibbs stood up, taking his glass to the sink. He opened the door to the bathroom.

Tony stood, a fresh awkwardness in his limbs. “Um, where...”

“Bedroom's upstairs. Got a king, plenty of room. I don't snore. You better not.” Gibbs shut the door.

Tony regarded the door. Then he looked at the ladder. He sighed and picked up his duffel from the corner of the living room where he'd left it earlier, rummaging around and pulling out his kit bag and a pair of sweat pants. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out his Ohio State sweatshirt too. There was no fire upstairs, so it was bound to be nippy.

Gibbs emerged from the bathroom. “Left you a candle,” he said, and climbed up the ladder.

Tony sighed. The rustic bathroom had to be faced. He went through the door and was pleasantly surprised by the size of the room. There was a shower to the left, dark blue vinyl curtain pulled shut, and a pedestal sink with the same pump handle that the kitchen sink had. A small toilet was next to the sink, but the real surprise was the large, old-fashioned hip tub sitting in the middle of the back wall. Tony's images of standing in a washtub of hot water blinked out, replaced by more enticing images of soaking in the hip tub, like a cowboy at a fancy saloon. “Not bad, not bad,” he murmured to himself, and proceeded to use the bathroom, change into his sweats, and brush his teeth, humming all the while.

Awkwardness struck again when he came back into the kitchen and faced the ladder. Really? He and Gibbs were going to share a bed? Looking at the living room furniture, Tony decided that they were very comfortable chairs but not for sleeping in. He climbed up the ladder.

A candle flickered in a jar, providing just enough light for Tony to see the bedroom was much like the downstairs. A king-size mattress rested on what had to be a hand-made bedstead, the headboard and foot board simple but beautifully carved. Tony was pleasantly surprised to see that the comforter was thick and the pillows plump. He kicked off his shoes and blew the candle out as he sidled into bed. There was plenty of room for both of them, but he still felt acutely aware of Gibbs' heat nearby, and the steady sound of his breathing.

“Stop thinking and go to sleep, DiNozzo.”

“Yes, boss.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/91312/91312_original.jpg)

The lantern twinkled in the window, coaxing Tony the last few yards to the cabin. He was tired, the hike had felt longer than usual, but that was just physical fatigue. Worse was the emotional malaise that had dogged him for days. The debacle with Jeanne had drained him, robbed him of his usual vigor, and left him unable to rebound.

_“Was any of it real?” Jeanne's lips trembled; her eyes held tears that she refused to shed._

_(Yes. Yes, everything that mattered was real. My heart was real. My love was real.)_

_But Tony put on the blasé face he'd cultivated over a thousand meaningless dates and said, “No.”_

_And the elevator door shut, severing them forever, but not before he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks._

Now he was like a husk with all the strength and cheer sucked out of him, acutely conscious of being scrutinized. Director Sheppard-- _(Is there a problem, Tony? Then go ahead and sleep with her)_ \--coolly surveying him from behind her desk. McGee staring at him, bewilderment clear on his cherubic face. Ziva, lips pursed, flicking little sidelong looks at him. And Ducky—Ducky was the worst. His knowing eyes held pity, as if he truly understood what Tony had so fleetingly held and cherished before he was forced to cast it aside heedlessly.

“Get inside, DiNozzo. Temperature drops at sunset.”

Gibbs stood in the open door, waiting. Tony picked up the duffel that had dropped from his nerveless hands and trudged up the steps and inside the cabin.

Inside, it was just as it always was, the same every time Tony had visited. He came up here three or four times a year, going on three years now, and everything was always the same. The furniture, big and sturdy and comfortable; the fire crackling in the big fireplace; the big bed upstairs where Tony always got the best sleep of his life, lying warm and safe while he listened to Gibbs' soft, even breathing.

“Steak okay with you? Cowboy style?” Gibbs pulled a plate of meat from the icebox. Tony had only seen iceboxes in the movies, but Gibbs had a real one, old and a little battered. Every time he came up he brought fresh ice—a big block for the box and a bag of cubes for drinks—and filled the icebox.

“Yeah, sounds great.” Tony pasted a smile on. He hadn't been able to eat a real meal since...since that evening, but he didn't want to disappoint Gibbs. “Gonna take my things up, okay?” He didn't wait for an answer, but scurried up the ladder, now adept after doing it so many times.

 _Why did I come?_ Tony rubbed his hands over his face, sighing deeply. The weekend looked endless already, and he wished he were home on his leather sofa, marathoning something blatantly escapist like the box set of _Centennial_ , or maybe all of Harry Potter. Tony may have grown up with a rich father, but his life had been impoverished in many ways, and he'd felt an immediate affinity with the boy wizard from the first moments of _The Chamber of Secrets._

It pretty much came down to not being able to say no to Gibbs when he'd said casually, “Been a while since you've been out to the cabin, DiNozzo. How about heading out this weekend? Could do a little hiking if the weather holds.”

And Tony had promptly replied. “Sure thing, boss. Sounds great.”

Gibbs called out from the living room, “Beer ain't getting any colder!” Tony dropped his hands, shook himself, pasted the smile back on, and clambered down the stairs.

“Thanks, boss.” Tony had to admit the beer felt good going down his throat. Gibbs took a long pull on his bottle too. They sighed contentedly in unison.

Gibbs pulled a chair up to the fire and speared the steaks, plopping them onto the metal rack he used for grilling inside. The juices dripped merrily into the flames, making sizzling sounds that even Tony found tantalizing.

They drank their beers quietly, watching the flames dance and the steaks cook. Gibbs got plates and put the steaks on them, and Tony fetched fresh beers from the icebox. They ate in a companionable silence. Tony found he had enough appetite to eat three-quarters of his steak after all. His stomach felt full and content in a way it hadn't for a while.

“Not too cold for a walk,” Gibbs said after they'd cleaned up. “You game?”

“Sure, why not?” Tony shrugged his jacket back on obediently and they went outside.

It was late spring, but in the mountains it was still chilly after dark, so Tony was glad for his leather jacket. They walked downhill a bit to the logging road, then walked along that for a mile instead of through the woods in the dark. The air was clear and crisp, and Tony found himself breathing deep, like his body had been short on oxygen and could now replenish itself.

“It was a bad business,” Gibbs said unexpectedly. Tony stopped short. Gibbs stopped and turned back to face him. “The undercover op was a bad idea in the first place, and Jenny—Director Sheppard--screwed the pooch on it. You should never have been that deep without back-up, and I'm going to make sure you never get used like that again.” He shook his head and looked away. “We all have to do things in this job that are ugly sometimes. But this—this was a cluster-fuck.”

Tony stood frozen, Gibbs' words replaying in his head. Tony had blamed himself for so much of it, for all of it really, even down to the final heartbreaking moment at the elevator. And sure, he had made mistakes. He knew it. But hearing Gibbs say it out loud like that, here in the piney evening air, Tony saw that he wasn't alone in his guilt. Saw how callously he'd been manipulated. How Jenny had thrown him at Jeanne, so vulnerable after her broken engagement, pushed Tony to go beyond what he'd known to be decent.

He almost couldn't breathe—his chest muscles constricted and he started coughing. Gibbs came over and thumped his back, alternating the thumps with a firm rub to calm his muscles down. “Easy,” Gibbs murmured. “I got you, Tony. Easy.”

Tony finally caught his breath. “I'm okay. Sorry. Just...the cold air or something. Thanks.” His mind was still reeling a bit from the shift in perspective, and he stumbled a little. Gibbs caught him by the elbow, and he kept his grip on Tony's arm the whole walk back to the cabin. Half of Tony felt helpless and klutzy, but the other half—well, the other half of him just felt warm. Warm and cared for.

They got ready for bed in silence, stripping down to t-shirts and pajama bottoms and socks. Tony lay on his side like he always did, listening to Gibbs breathing next to him. He could feel the warmth broadcasting from Gibbs' body, and he wondered what it would be like to--

“Scootch over, Tony.” Gibbs' voice was soft in the dark room.

Tony rolled over and saw Gibbs lying on his back, arm closest to Tony raised. “C'mon.” Gibbs waved his fingers.

Tony scootched. He lay pressed up next to Gibbs, his head on Gibbs' shoulder. Gibbs wrapped the arm around Tony and pulled him in snugly.

 _This should be weird, right? Lying here next to my boss like this? I should be freaking out._ But all Tony really felt was warmth. Warmth spread throughout him, transferring itself from Gibbs' body to his, and the tension in his muscles, in his very bones, melted in that warmth. The unexpected relief was so great that Tony found himself silently crying, his tears dripping onto Gibbs and making dark splotches on his white Sears t-shirt. Now Tony did feel like freaking out; he tried to stop crying but couldn't, and there was no pretending that it wasn't happening. Not with the damp spots on Gibbs' chest.

“It's okay,” Gibbs murmured gruffly. “No rule against crying, Tony. Let it out.”

Shaking and whimpering, Tony let it out. The hurt of being used, the pain of finding love, the grief of losing it—it all seeped out of him. Gibbs simply held him, keeping a snug grip on him as if reassuring him that he was not alone.

When it was over, Gibbs handed over some tissues and Tony dried his now-sleepy eyes and blew his nose. He shifted to move away, but that strong arm roped him back in next to Gibbs again, and Tony let himself go with it. His arms were curled up between his chest and Gibbs' side, so Tony hesitantly reached one arm out and draped it over Gibbs' chest.

“Thank you, Gibbs,” Tony whispered after several minutes. He thought Gibbs was probably asleep, which actually made saying that easier.

“Jethro,” Gibbs muttered.

Tony smiled. That made sense. Clearly they'd crossed some kind of threshold. Tony didn't know what was on the other side yet, but it made sense to call Gibbs by his first name now.

“Thank you, Jethro.”


	3. Chapter 3

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/90894/90894_original.jpg)

Tony sat in his car at the foot of the logging road. A short drive up the road, then the hike up the mountain, and he'd be at the cabin. He longed to be there already, in the peace of the woods and the quiet of Gibbs' company. It had been a long time since Tony had visited the cabin; the MCRT was running short-handed, precluding much downtime, and frankly, Gibbs hadn't asked. Tony didn't feel they were on the level of friendship that meant Tony could just cruise on up to Gibbs' private getaway without invitation.

Well, Gibbs had finally invited, in his gruff, off-handed way, and here Tony was, ready for a big drink of calm and a break from the bright buzzing of the electronic world. No pages, no calls, no time-frittering distractions like Words with Friends or Facebook. Just trees and books and the fire and Gibbs.

Tony put the car into gear and carefully drove up the rutted road several yards, until he reached the area Gibbs had cleared to park his truck. Tony parked next to the truck and got out, collecting his duffel and heading uphill on foot.

Ziva ran around and around inside Tony's head while he hiked. Her face, dark and angry as she spewed hostile accusations about the fight between him and Rivkin. How Tony should never have been able to overpower Rivkin. How Tony should have been the one who--

And the time in Israel. Eli David, Director of Mossad, but even more importantly Ziva's father, interrogating Tony in that dark, cinder-block room, like Tony was the criminal. Vance looking on, unwilling to commit his support to Tony. David, gripping Tony's shoulders, David's strong fingers kneading into the injured one until Tony couldn't conceal a grimace of pain.

But he'd done it. He'd made David reveal himself, his motives, right there on the closed camera for Gibbs and Vance and Ziva herself to see. He'd looked right at that damn camera--raising his eyebrows to say, _See? I told you._

Vance had thrown in behind Tony after that, and Gibbs, well...Tony knew Gibbs had his back. But it hadn't changed anything with Ziva. The flight home was long and quiet, with the shadow of her absence looming large and dark in the cargo bay.

The welcoming light of the lantern finally greeted Tony, and he quickened his steps, despite his aching shoulder. He stumbled into the living room and dropped his duffel with relief, greeting Gibbs with a pained attempt at a smile.

“What's wrong, Tony?” asked Gibbs, concern clouding his face.

“Just tired...” Tony grimaced as he wrestled with his canvas jacket. Getting clothing on and off was a most difficult task with a bum shoulder.

“I got ya.” Helpful hands took the weight of the jacket off Tony, gently sliding it down his arms. “Still sore?”

“Like crazy,” Tony admitted. He never wanted to appear weak in front of Gibbs, but he'd also been learning that here, in this little sanctuary, he could truly be himself--vulnerable, injured. And right now, himself was hurting.

“Got just the thing.” Gibbs waved him toward the ladder. “Go on up, I'll be right there.”

Tony shed his boots and climbed the ladder to the cozy bedroom above. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, putting on sweat pants and his Ohio State sweatshirt before sitting on the bed.

Gibbs' silver head popped above the ladder. He climbed into the room and joined Tony on the edge of the bed. “Turn around,” he said, gesturing for Tony to turn his back to Gibbs.

Tony turned obediently. Gibbs had a tone of voice that, while it didn't sound sharp or peremptory, nonetheless caused Tony to immediately comply. He wondered idly if it was some kind of sub-sonic thing, a tone too low to actually hear and yet still affected him, eliciting prompt obedience. He sat quietly while Gibbs pulled the sweatshirt over Tony's head and down his arms, leaving his back and shoulders bare.

Gibbs had a fat, white tube of something in his hand; Tony had a shocked moment of thinking it was lube, but Gibbs had never given any indication that he swung that way. Sex with a man wasn't new to Tony; he'd realized in college that he was bi. He tended to date women more as part of his playboy facade, but he'd had plenty of gay sex along the way.

Tony recalled the warm, firm feel of Gibbs'—Jethro's—body the night Tony had finally broken down about Jeanne, but that had been pure comfort. Tony might admit to himself that he often thought about that night, pressed against Jethro, but he'd never do anything to affect their working relationship and friendship.

“Might be kinda cold at first,” Gibbs said, and sure enough, the stuff on his hands was cool against Tony's skin. It didn't heat up like Ben-Gay, but there was a feeling of ease that spread as Gibbs rubbed the slippery stuff into Tony's skin. The muscles in Tony's injured shoulder began to relax, and well-being suffused him. He knew some of it had to be the unguent, but feeling Gibb's strong, callused hands massaging it in sure didn't hurt either.

It felt so good that apparently Tony's dick noticed. He was grateful his back was turned to Gibbs, as his erection tented his sweatpants. He casually put his hand across himself, willing it to subside, but every sweep and press of Gibbs' fingers seemed to encourage it instead, until it was forcing itself against Tony's boxers. He gritted his teeth and tried to think about dead bodies, but all that did was make him think about Gibbs, dressed in black and ordering everyone around at the crime scene, which didn't help at all.

“Okay, all set. That should help some anyway. Arnica's helped me a lot with stiff or injured muscles, so figured it couldn't hurt to try on your shoulder.” Tony turned and saw Gibbs wiping his hand off with a tissue.

“Thanks. Feels better already.” Tony wondered what to do—he should get up and go downstairs, except he didn't want Gibbs to see his stupidly stubborn boner. Maybe Gibbs would just go downstairs first and Tony could...

“Something else wrong, Tony?” Gibbs was standing now, looking at Tony with a quizzical expression.

Tony crossed his legs in what he hoped was a casual fashion and replied, “No, just letting the arnica soak in. You go ahead, I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Gibbs went over to the ladder and began to climb down. “Just make sure you clean up after taking care of that woody. I'm not sleeping in anyone's wet spot.”

Gibbs' off-handed remark shocked Tony; he was less surprised that Gibbs had obviously discerned Tony's state than how he was evidently unfazed by it.

He rubbed a hand over the bulge in his pants. It was tempting to deal with it now, but the thought of descending to the living room with a handful of sticky tissues, or of Gibbs climbing back upstairs to the aroma of spunk was too much of a deterrent. Tony sighed and stood up, closing his eyes and summoning up the most unappealing images possible. With Gibbs out of the room now, that was sufficient for his dick to deflate. Heaving another sigh, this one of regret, Tony climbed down the ladder.


	4. Chapter 4

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/91493/91493_original.jpg)

 

Tony strode briskly up through the woods, focused on reaching the cabin as soon as possible. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, and the sharp wind promised that snow was on the way. He shivered, a chilly tendril of wind snaking past his muffler, but at the same time, he felt grateful for the cold. The crisp air helped eradicate the last memory traces of North African desert heat and aridity, grains of sand blown into eyes and nose by dust devils. Hours spent tied to a chair in a hollow bunker, parched, mouth gummy and eyes gritty; shot full of sodium pentothal and pumped for information by would-be terrorist Saleem Igor Ulman, until the three NCIS agents were rescued...by Gibbs, of course.

Tony had never doubted that Gibbs was coming. It had only been a question of when.

That had been weeks ago, and Tony—thoroughly patched-up, fully rehydrated and painstakingly debriefed—was coming up to the cabin. For the first time, he was arriving uninvited. While a small part of him was mildly worried that Gibbs would be pissed at having his solitude disrupted, Tony felt more that he would be welcomed. And fuck it...he needed to see Gibbs. Not like in the bull pen, or even in an elevator conference, but just the two of them. Him and Gibbs. Out here, where they could just be themselves.

Things had to be faced, and Tony—after babbling everything about his co-workers while staring into the cold eyes of Ulman--was ready to face them.

He hoped Gibbs would be too.

The air was even colder by the time Tony reached the cabin; he figured the temperature was dropping fast, with snow on the way. He thumped on the door, stomping his feet and clapping his hands as he waited.

“Tony!”

Gibbs stood in the open doorway, grabbing Tony's arm and dragging him inside. Tony was delighted to see a roaring fire already going, and he went willingly when Gibbs pushed him closer to the hearth, shedding his coat and scarf into Gibbs' arms.

“Tony, I didn't expect you up this weekend.” Gibbs got a coffee mug from the kitchen and brought it over. The coffeepot, a squat metal thing, sat in the coals, and Gibbs picked it up with a thick potholder and poured a steaming cup for Tony.

“I didn't plan on it—I mean, I know we hadn't made any plans, but I—I really wanted to come.” Tony sipped the hot coffee appreciatively. He could feel it warming him all the way down. “I...I guess I needed a break.” He put the cup down and looked at Gibbs. “I'm sorry if I'm intruding or anything.”

“No intrusion. You're always welcome here, Tony.” Gibbs drank his own coffee. “Got some new books in, if you need something to read.”

Tony nodded. Movies were a part of him, part of the way he viewed and related to the world, but he'd grown to love the quiet of reading up here in the woods; of seeing a world grow only inside his imagination as sun arced through the trees or lamplight glowed softly in the darkened living room.

They sat without speaking for a little while, drinking their coffee and watching the fire. Tony could feel tension peeling off him, muscles in his neck and back slowly unkinking themselves as he sank into the sofa cushions. He put his empty mug on the table and closed his eyes, just for a second.

When he opened them again, dark had fallen and lamplight suffused the room. A quilt covered him, and his boots were over by the door instead of on his feet. The rich, spicy smell of chili filled the air, and he saw a stocky covered pot hanging over the fire. His coffee cup was gone, and as he blinked, a beer bottle, covered with tiny drops of water, was placed in its stead.

“Figured you'd be ready for a cold one,” Gibbs said, sitting down with another bottle in his hand.

“Thanks.” Tony sat up and took the beer, swallowing a great cold gulp thirstily. It was perfect.

“Chili's ready anytime we want to eat, just letting it simmer.”

Tony nodded. The nap had refreshed him, and his mind felt clearer, his resolve firmer.

Gibbs looked at him and nodded. “You say what you need to say, Tony.”

Tony set his beer on the table and shrugged the quilt off. “I knew you were going to come, Gibbs. I knew you weren't going to leave us out there in the damn desert. I confess that I got a little worried it wouldn't be in time. Saleem was crazy, like Lex Luthor-level crazy, and sometimes it's hard to tell how something like that is going to end, you know?”

Gibbs nodded and drank. “Not gonna lie, Tony, I knew it was getting pretty close.” His jaw clenched. “If he'd killed any of you—that camp would have been nothing but a smudge in the sand afterward. I wasn't going to lose any of my team out there.”

Tony felt a thrill run down his spine at the vehemence in Gibbs' words.

They watched the flames dance in the fireplace while they drank their beers. Gibbs used a long metal poker to take the chili off the hook and set it in the coals on one side, where it would stay warm for some time yet. Tony got them fresh beers, and Gibbs poured a couple fingers of bourbon into small mason jars for each of them. They sat back down with the drinks, sipping the bourbon and chasing it with beer, and Tony found himself talking. He'd been debriefed, and Gibbs had been present, but now Tony talked about the whole thing all over again, this time with all of his personal little thoughts and observations included. He laughed and joked as he talked; the relief of being here at the cabin, this place of utter sanctuary, unstopping his tongue as his nerves finally finished untangling.

They ate the chili companionably, speaking of more mundane subjects like Abby's latest fad and how McGee's book appeared to be coming along, and Gibbs poured more bourbon, generously refilling the jars. Tony had never seen Gibbs drunk, but he did become more relaxed, smiling easily and laughing at Tony's witticisms.

“Damn, that's more than I've had in a while,” Gibbs said, shaking his head. “Time to turn in before I get foolish.”

“Me too,” agreed Tony. He didn't feel drunk so much as comfortably buzzed, and hey, no one had to drive anywhere. He went to brush his teeth and get ready while Gibbs banked the fire.

Once upstairs, Tony gratefully sank into bed. He remembered how good it had felt to lie next to Gibbs—Jethro--and wished it could happen again. His cock stirred in his pajama pants, and he cursed softly as he rolled onto his side facing away from Gibbs' side.

Gibbs came up the ladder and got into bed. It was quiet for several minutes, only the soft sound of rustling branches outside; minutes that Tony spent gritting his teeth and unsuccessfully willing his erection away. He could tell by Gibbs' breathing that he was still awake as well, despite how still he was lying under the blankets.

“If you had been killed, I don't know what I would have done,” Gibbs said softly, startling Tony. “I couldn't have borne it.” He gave a little huff. “Abby knew. She kept checking on me; she about drove me nuts, but I knew why she was doing it. She knew. And when you came home, she told me I better tell you, that it wasn't fair to either of us not to.”

Tony lay stunned, eyes wide as he listened to Gibbs' words. Did this mean—was Gibbs serious? Did he really feel like that...about Tony? Was Tony asleep already and just dreaming this?

“Tell me what, Jethro?”

He felt the mattress give as Jethro rolled onto his side, and Tony turned to face him. Jethro's face was solemn, his eyes dark in the faint moonlight that made it through the trees. “Tell you how I feel about you, Tony. About how I've fallen in love with you.” He shook his head. “I've never felt like this about a man, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. But when I thought I might lose you? Things looked dark, dark in a way I hadn't felt for years. And that's when I realized it. Doesn't matter what we are, not to me. Only who we are. And you—you're about the most important person in the world to me. So I figured that Abby was right, and I had to tell you.”

Tony felt like he was gaping at Jethro like a fish, and shut his mouth. _Holy shit! He loves me! Jethro is in love with me!_ His thoughts raced around inside his head, and it was only when Gibbs spoke again that Tony became aware of how he'd left the man hanging.

“It's okay if you don't—there's no pressure, Tony. I know how important women are to you. If--”

Tony reached out and grabbed Jethro, pulling him into a kiss. There was a momentary stiffness in Jethro's body before he relaxed and kissed back. Tony was pretty sure that Jethro had never kissed a man before, but he'd had four wives, and he knew his way around kissing.

Jethro rolled on top of Tony, his weight pressing Tony down in a delicious way. Feeling the hardness of Jethro's body, the sensation of strength on Tony, was not only hotter than Tony had imagined, it gave him an unaccustomed feeling of safety, of security. Tony knew without Jethro saying anything else that he would never intentionally hurt Tony—that Tony's heart was safe in those strong, capable hands. That Tony was _home._

Then he felt Jethro's cock, hard and insistent, against his thigh and stopped thinking.

It all happened with a surprising minimum of awkwardness. Perhaps not really so surprising, mused Tony later; their relationship was built on shared silences, grunted syllables, and unspoken understandings--a give-and-take that segued seamlessly into making love. He knew what the press of every finger meant, each sigh and hitched breath. Jethro seemed unfazed by sex with a man; he explored Tony's body thoroughly, tracing his muscles with sure fingers, calloused hand gripping Tony's straining cock without hesitation. Jethro took the lube Tony wordlessly offered him, working his fingers into Tony and driving him half crazy before lining up and slowly, firmly, pushing in.

Once they were locked together, Jethro stilled. Tony panicked for a moment—was Jethro regretting this? Second-guessing it? Maybe Tony wasn't...good? He froze.

“Shhhh.” Jethro cradled Tony's face, and even in the dim light, Tony could see those intense blue eyes looking inside him. “Everything's okay. I just—it's been a long time since sex has felt this right. It's because of you, Tony. It's all because of you.” He dipped his head down and kissed Tony, slow and deep, and Tony let all the doubts, all the fears, drift away, instead losing himself in Jethro's thrusts and finding himself in Jethro's arms.

Later, listening to Jethro's sleep-slowed breathing and watching the play of moonlight on the wall, Tony fully accepted the peace from this house, the love from this man, and drifted into sleep.

The End


End file.
